


I'm Moving On

by DontBeDead



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:32:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontBeDead/pseuds/DontBeDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is having trouble moving on. Then he meets Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Moving On

_Dear Bucky,_

_I thought about you today. I know I promised I wouldn’t let it get me down, today of all days, but it’s hard. I bought you some flowers today, Tulips. They were always your favourite. It’s been a year now, and I still miss you dearly. I wonder if I’ll ever stop missing you. Life isn’t as bright without you here._

Steve looked up from his notebook, his pen poised over the page. He looked around him, at the other patrons of the café and he wondered how their day had been. Had they gone to visit relatives and put up with awkward family conversations? Was this their first Christmas no longer living at home? He sighed and sipped at his coffee, wondering if anyone there was like him, a lost man.

_I went past the site of the accident today. It hurt just as much to see it. The tree’s still mangled, and there’re still tyre burn marks on the ground. Isn’t it funny that even after all this time, they’re the things to last and survive, but not you? I know it’s stupid, but I waited for you. For just the slightest glimmer that you’re still here. There was nothing, and I don’t know why I put myself through that, hoping you’ll come back. It’s been a year and I’m just starting to accept that._

Sighing heavily, he scrubbed a hand over his face and dropped the pen to the page, watching the people bustling about on the footpath, passing past his table. He closed his eyes and let the cool air soak into his skin, calming him and making him feel centred. The scarf around his neck stopped him from getting too cold, his thick jacket fighting against the bitter wind. It was going to snow tonight, bringing New York another white Christmas. He normally would have cared, because Bucky loved the snow. He loved Christmas time and would always pray for snow on Christmas. Everyone else seemed just as happy about it, but Steve was just indifferent.

He picked up his pen and tapped it against the table top, wondering what else he could write. The journal was completely full apart from this page, having written in it every day for the past year. He pursed his lips and sipped at his coffee, stirring it slowly as he thought. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that hour, his pen scratching at his page as he started to write once more.

_Sometimes I still dream about what our life could have been like, when they finally legalized our marriage. I would have proposed to you right then, you know. I had a ring ready and everything, and I was just waiting for the right day. I dream about our future, growing old together, maybe having some little rugrats running around by our ankles. I’ve stopped myself from thinking about that too much because it hurts, but sometimes I can’t help it._

Steve heard the high pitched squeal of a happy child and for a moment though it was in his head, letting himself imagine that it was Bucky, making their child laugh like that. He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes to wipe away the prickly feeling that told him tears were to come. The laughter happened again, followed by the deep quiet chuckle of a man.

Raising his head, he looked across the outdoor dining area, most of the other tables empty apart because of the cold. Except for one other.

There was a man. He looked to be I his mid-to-late thirties, with chestnut brown hair. He had a goatee around soft looking red lips, his eyes dark brown and inquisitive. He was shorter than Steve, that much was obvious even when he was sitting down. He wore dark jeans along with a deep grey sweater beneath a black leather jacket. Around his neck was a blood red scarf, keeping his tanned skin warm. In his arms he held a small child, perhaps a year old.

The man, the father assumedly, seemed absorbed in the child, as much as Steve was in watching the two of them. He held the child on the table, his strong looking hands gently digging into the child’s sides, making him squirm and squeal with delight. The man seemed awed by the child, marvelled by how free the boy looked from the horrors of the world. The child reached up and grabbed his father’s ears, the man grinning leaning forward to press a kiss to his small forehead.

“Come on Petey, let’s get you home. It’s too cold out.” The man said, voice rough and deep, but so smooth. It almost sent a shiver up and down Steve’s spine as he sat there frozen, watching father and son, pen hovering over the page.

He glanced down at his page, surprised to find a sketch beginning to form, of the scene before him. He didn’t know when he started to sketch, but he honestly didn’t care. He focused on the page for a few minutes, perfecting the lines he’d already drawn before adding more to it, drawing out the scene in front of him in easy strokes of his pen. A small, sad smile was on his face as he listened to the happy chatter of the baby and his father, glancing up when it went quiet for a few moments.

The father was staring across the outdoor dining area at him, a single eyebrow raised when their eyes met. Steve realized he’d been caught sketching them and blushed furiously, snapping his notebook shut. He shoved his chair back violently, the wood clattering to the groud in his hurry to get out of there, blonde hair untamed upon his hair. The other man stood to intercept him in the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Tony Stark. Who are you?”

Steve just stared down at the shorter man who seemed to have so much personality, as if it was seeping out of his compact form, unable to reply. His eyes went wide and he panicked as the man snatched his journal from under his arm, flicking through the pages. Steve’s heart was beating wildly and he felt ill, but thankfully the man—Tony, didn’t seem to be reading it. He just stopped on the final page, staring down at the half finished sketch for a few minutes.

“You know, this is actually good.” He said with a smirk, turning to his son. “Petey, look. This man drew a picture of us.” The child turned to face his father from where he’d been watching some children build a snow man, face lighting up when he realized who the picture was of.

“Dada! Dada!” He said, giggling happily and clinging to his father’s neck. Steve just watched the scene with wide eyes, unsure what to do.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…you looked so happy and—“ He cut himself off when the other man smirked and slipped a piece of paper, a business card, into his coat pocket.

“Call me when you’ve finished the picture.”

And then the man was gone, a light chuckle left in his wake as Steve watched them leave, frozen I his spot. When they were out of sight, he let out a shaky sigh and collapsed into the nearest chair, pulling out the business card. He spun it around in his fingers for a while as he read the number over and over, a slight grin spreading over his face as he grabbed his pen and opened his notebook, filling the last few lines with his casual scrawl.

_I met someone today, Bucky. His name is Tony, and he has a son. I still miss you every day, but I think I know what you meant when you told me that one day I’d understand, that one day I’ll be able to move on. I’ll always love you Bucky, but it’s time I did as you told me with your final breath; I’m going to live._

Steve read over this a few times before smiling largely, snapping his notebook shut and standing up. He paid for his coffee and strode out of the café, a skip in his step for the first time in a year, the business card tucked snugly in his pocket as he walked towards his new life.


End file.
